


The companion of death

by panamdea



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole, Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:47:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panamdea/pseuds/panamdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>Who</em>, he asked himself again with bitter, tired fury, <em>gets ill before the most important battle in the history of the Alliance so they can’t fly while their friends fight and die? Who</em> did <em>that?</em>"</p><p>In the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Yavin, Hobbie Klivian and Wes Janson, each dealing with their own guilt, meet for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The companion of death

**Author's Note:**

> This is set just after the battle of Yavin and leads on immediately from the end panel of the "Darklighter" comic.
> 
> Originally posted at wraithsquadron.livejournal.com as part of the annual ficathon as a gift for agent_era. Completely unbeated - constructive criticism craved.
> 
> Yes, I quoted Chanel for the title. I was a bit surprised too.
> 
> I'm just playing in the Galaxy Far Far Away.
> 
> ~~~~
> 
> "Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death." - Coco Chanel
> 
> ~~~~

Hobbie Klivian stood in the grand entrance hall of the ancient temple, leaning on the crutches the medics had given him when he’d threatened to hop all the way if he had to, and stared at the line of life-sized holos lining the walls. He’d been left alone in the quiet hallway when Dantels had said a final goodbye and drifted back to her ship and presumably off to whatever mission the Alliance had her flying next. Hobbie didn’t think he’d ever see her again and didn’t feel any particular sadness at that; it was Biggs who would have missed her, and Biggs wouldn’t be missing anyone again.

Which was so unfair because Hobbie knew he was going to miss Biggs like crazy. A feeling of deep, guilty loneliness swept through him as he stared at the holo of his friend - just one of the so very many holos of the people who had been lost over Yavin just days before - and listened to the distant ceremony going on in the great hall. Still recovering from the infection that had nearly killed him he hadn’t been required to attend and hadn’t had the heart to go; it would just be another reminder of all the friends he’d lost, friends he hadn’t been there for.

Hobbie knew, logically, that if he’d been up there with the rest of Red Squadron he wouldn’t have beaten the odds like Wedge had. He would have died like the rest of the attack force, sacrificing his life in some brief, glorious incandescent explosion doing what he thought was right. Because wasn't it just as easy to die on the right side as on the wrong? And what would that have helped? Would he have been able to keep Biggs alive? Porkins? Anybody? Could he have made any difference at all if he hadn’t been lying uselessly in a hospital bed?

 _Who_ , he asked himself again with bitter, tired fury, _gets ill before the most important battle in the history of the Alliance so they can’t fly while their friends fight and die? Who_ did _that?_

In the face of his own guilt and with all his pilot’s instincts declaring automatically that he was fit to fly despite all the evidence, it was hard to remember that even if he hadn’t caught that thrice-damned infection he probably wouldn’t have been flying anyway. Even if a prosthesis had been available before the battle he wouldn’t have been cleared for combat in time. Even as desperate as the Alliance was, he wouldn’t have been allowed in a cockpit without the full control over a new prosthesis that weeks, if not months of therapy would require. Especially not when there were other able bodied, if less experienced, pilots waiting.

His self-pitying musings were interrupted as an ill looking kid crossed the hallway on unsteady feet. Hobbie watched, not so much curious as distracted, wondering vaguely what someone who didn’t look old enough to be out of school was doing in the temple.

 _I must have been about his age when I applied to the Academy_. The sudden thought intruded against his will. And even though it felt like it, that hadn’t really been all that long ago really. _21 years old, missing half my limbs and 17 and stupid feels a hundred years ago_ , Hobbie thought bitterly. _So much for the glamour and excitement of being a pilot_.

The kids’ searching eyes found the holo of Jek Porkins and he stumbled towards it, shoulders slumping as he reached it and read the name, apparently confirming what he already knew. He gazed at the holo for a long minute until Hobbie, feeling oddly uncomfortable now there was someone else sharing the hallway with him, cleared his throat.

“Hey.” Hobbie didn’t know what made him say it other than some fellow feeling for someone else obviously mourning. “Were you a friend of Porkins’?”

The kid looked round, apparently startled. His eyes were red-rimmed and over-bright in his pale face, though with fever or tears Hobbie wasn’t sure.

“Yeah... I heard... I didn’t... What happened?” The kid gestured at the massed holos sounding lost.

“You don’t know about the battle?” Hobbie asked, surprised. It wasn’t as though anything else was being talked about around the base, nobody could have missed it, surely?

“I think... Yes... I mean... I don’t remember the last few days very well.” The kid said in a hoarse voice. “I’ve been ill.” He added. That much was obvious, Hobbie thought. The kid looked like he was moments from collapse his pallor emphasised by the shock of black hair plastered to his skull. He gave a convulsive shiver and seemed to droop even more.

“I think you should be in medical.” Hobbie said in some concern. He didn’t know who the kid was but it wouldn’t be right to let him stay out here in this state. And if it came to it, he wasn’t in the best state himself to help if the kid did collapse.

The kid shivered again. “I’m not supposed to be out of bed, but I overheard somebody saying Piggy was dead and I...” his voice broke, “No one would tell me. I had to find out what happened.” He turned confused eyes back to the hologram of Porkins, hanging in the air next to that of Biggs.

Hobbie wondered if the kid was one of Porkins’ charity cases. It would have been just like the big man to have made friends with an ill and obviously lost kid even as he was preparing for a mission. Hobbie frowned slightly, wondering again what the kid was doing on an Alliance military base in the first place, but then dismissed the thought. There were a lot of strange people wondering around at the moment; witness Luke Skywalker, sudden and unexpected hero of the hour.

“Porkins was shot down over the Death Star.” Hobbie said as gently as he could manage. Despite the obvious pain from the loss of his childhood friend, Skywalker had done his best to soften the blow of Biggs’ death when he’d told Hobbie. It was the least Hobbie could do for someone else. As he spoke, the kid drooped and for a moment Hobbie thought he really was collapsing.

“Should’ve been me.” The words were spoken so low and were such an echo of his own thoughts that for a moment Hobbie thought the words had been in his own head. He stared at the kid wondering if he’d misheard. “He was a good guy, better than me.” The kid continued, sniffing.

Not understanding but worried, Hobbie said sternly, “Look, I’m taking you back to the medics.” That had sounded like it was going to be the start of a possibly rambling recrimination that, given his state and youth, might end in tears. Sympathetic though Hobbie may be, he was not up to comforting distressed teenagers at the moment. But neither could he leave the boy here alone, not when he was so obviously ill and upset.

The kid submitted to being steered down the corridor without protest, but their progress was slowed by his evident exhaustion and Hobbie’s inability to really hold him upright effectively as he tried to maneuver his own crutches at the same time. Almost as soon as they entered the makeshift medical bay a harried looking medic spotted them, a look of relief sweeping across her face. Hobbie recognised her as one of the human medical staff who’d appeared at intervals while he was ill but he didn’t know her name. He remembered her as blunt but kind.

“Oh thank goodness, there you are.” She said, apparently addressing the kid as she hurried towards them. He didn’t answer, but Hobbie thought that was more exhaustion than rudeness.

“I just happened across him.” Hobbie explained. “Thought he should be here.”

“Damn right he should be here. Wes, what were you thinking, wondering off like that?” As she spoke, the woman took hold of the kid’s wrist and felt his pulse. She shook her head. “You’re not well enough to be up and about whatever you might think.”

“Had to find out about Piggy.” The kid, Wes, mumbled. He was swaying where he stood and looked even more appalling than he had in the hallway. A look of sympathy crossed the medic’s face and she let go of his wrist and put an arm around his shoulders instead.

“Let’s get you back into bed.” She said, her tone much more gentle than it had been. She led him across the medical bay and disappeared into one of the small side rooms.

Hobbie stood watching them go, surrounded by empty beds that had been prepared in hope for wounded that had never made it back from the battle and felt, again, very alone.

~~~

“How’s the kid?” Hobbie asked the blunt-but-kind medic a couple of days later as she appeared by his bed to do something incomprehensibly medical.

The medic looked slightly confused then figured out what who’d he meant. “Wes? As fine as can be expected given his best efforts to push himself into a relapse.” Despite the brisk words, she sounded sympathetic.

“But he’ll be ok, right?”

“Yes. It’s the worst case of Hesken’s fever I’ve seen in a while but he’ll be fine.”

“Hesken’s?” Hobbie asked, confused. “I’ve had that, it’s not that bad.”

“I expect you were put on a treatment course immediately?” Hobbie nodded. “Yes, well it only takes a couple of days to recover from Hesken’s with the right drug therapies but we don’t have access to any of them and we’ve been too short of bacta for anything non-life threatening. He’s been having to get over it the old fashioned way.” Hobbie felt a flare of new guilt remembering how much bacta had been wasted on him trying to cure the infection that had almost killed him.

The medic apparently saw his guilt and added kindly. “Don’t worry. He’s over the worst.”

“Didn’t look it.”

There was sympathy in the woman’s sudden smile. “I know. But there’s no way he’d have been able to make it out of medical four days ago so even though he wore himself out that little excursion of his was actually good news. You don’t need to worry about him.” She smiled at him, taking the sting from her words. “Focus on your own recovery.”

Hobbie shrugged, trying to ignore the reminder that he had anything to recover from. “I think he was a friend of one of my squad. Jek Porkins. He seemed pretty upset?”

“Yes.” She sighed, serious again. “We were trying to keep the news from him until he was stronger actually. We knew he’d be upset and that doesn’t help when you’re getting over an illness like that.”

“How’d they know each other?” Hobbie asked curiously. He’d been thinking about it since he’d met the kid but didn’t remember hearing Porkins mention befriending some drifter teen so assumed the friendship had been struck up after he’d succumbed to whatever it was that had almost killed him.

The medic’s next words disabused him of that notion.

“Wes was Porkins’ gunner in the Yellow Aces before they were transferred here. I think they were pretty close.”

“What? No!” Hobbie’s voice rose in astonishment. There was no way that kid could possibly be a gunner. Or a pilot. No way. “He’s way too young. He’s, what, fifteen?”

“He’s not all that much younger than you, Lieutenant.” The medic said gently, looking suddenly sad. “I know the fever’s made him look younger but if he hadn’t come down ill you could have been flying with him.”

After she left it didn’t take Hobbie long to find the kid sitting listlessly on the floor against the wall in an out of the way corner. Hobbie watched him for a moment as he sat staring blankly at nothing and thought that even though he looked healthier he still looked far too young to be a soldier. Then he looked up and with a shock of recognition Hobbie saw in his eyes the indefinable too-old-for-his-years expression so common in members of the Alliance. The kid was one of them.

“Hi.” Hobbie said, feeling awkward. The kid – he should probably start thinking of him as Wes now he knew who he was - frowned slightly in apparent effort to place him. “We met the other day.” Hobbie clarified. “In the memorial hall.” The kid nodded warily in recognition. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone parked a y-wing on me.” The kid said, not friendly, but not quite hostile either.

“Yeah, well the doc says that’s your own fault for trying to run before you can walk.” The kid’s frown deepened. “I think you really worried her. I’m Derek Klivian, by the way. Hobbie”

“Wes.” There was a pause and then he added, grudgingly. “Janson.”

“I’m sorry about Piggy.” Hobbie tried. Wes looked away, pain replacing the frown. “I knew him a little.” Hobbie offered. “I flew with him.”

Wes looked back at him, suddenly interested. “Yeah?”

“In Red Squadron. We stole some x-wings from the Imps.” It didn’t sound enough so he added, echoing the kids’ own words. “He was a good guy.”

“I was going to be assigned to Red Squadron.” Wes said, and then added in a rush of confidence. “But I got ill on the way here so they swapped me out with Piggy so the Reds weren’t short a pilot.”

Hobbie had thought, after the medic’s revelation, that the kid’s - Wes’ - sadness had been that of a gunner loosing his pilot and partner, someone who was a friend. But now he understood that it was deeper than that. His impassioned _it should have been me_ hadn’t been just a wish that his friend hadn’t died or a statement of grief. It was a statement of fact. And guilt.

“I didn’t know that.” He said, not knowing what else to say that might help because he didn’t know what would help him either. Wes nodded, glumly, the frown returning. “You were his gunner?” Hobbie asked, hoping to draw him out.

Wes nodded, then added quietly. “He was my friend. He was... like a brother. Or, at least, like I always thought an older brother would be.”

Hobbie nodded. “Yeah. I can see that. He was always looking out for everyone.”

Tears sprang into Wes’ eyes as he nodded. He wiped them away angrily with the heel of a hand, smearing the moisture across his cheeks and managing to look even younger.

“It isn’t fair.” He muttered. “It isn’t fair that he’s dead.”

“I know.” Hobbie said. “I’m sorry.” It seemed so inadequate.

“I should have been there for him. Instead of him.” Wes buried his face against his drawn up knees letting out a muffled sob. Not really knowing what else to do, feeling useless, Hobbie limped over and slid awkwardly down to the floor beside him.

Wes’ shoulders shook but apart from that first stifled sound of pain, he made no noise as he cried. Hobbie knew that noiseless humiliated weeping of a kid who didn’t want anyone to know he couldn’t cope from his early Academy days. At the Academy you ignored it - and were ignored in turn - but that didn’t seem right here. Not knowing what else to do he just sat and waited.

“I’m sorry.” Wes muttered, eventually, “This is stupid. It’s just that... I just feel so...”

“It’s ok.” Hobbie said, “I understand.”

“No you don’t!” Wes’ voice hovered between anger and despair, which Hobbie understood without having to try. He wondered if the blunt-but-kind medic and her colleagues had seen the same mix of belligerent misery in him after he’d learned of the battle.

“Actually, my best friend died over the Death Star.” He said shortly, feeling the pain all over again. “So yes, I do know how you feel.”

Wes raised his head and looked at him, suddenly fierce. “But at least you were there! You got to do something!”

Hobbie stared at him, surprise rendering him mute for a second. Then he realised, that of course Wes didn’t know, how could he? He shook his head. “No. No, I wasn’t.”

“But, your leg? I thought...?” Wes trailed off in embarrassed confusion.

“Oh.” Hobbie blinked. “That. No, that was before. It got infected and I couldn’t fly the Death Star mission. I was too ill.” He’d never thought that the major injury that had cost him his chance to fly, almost cost him his life, would ever be reduced to just ‘that’.

Wes frowned, looking suddenly thoughtful. “You were?” Hobbie nodded. “I didn’t even know it was happening. When I woke up it was all over.” He didn’t bother to add _and most of my squadron was dead_ because that was obvious.

“I’m sorry.” Wes looked contrite. “I thought you were one of the survivors. I thought someone said they were all Red Squadron.”

“Two were. Just not me.” He knew he sounded a little grim and didn’t really care.

There was a short, slightly strained silence then Wes asked, “So Piggy took my x-wing. Who got yours?” It was like he couldn’t keep away from the topic, picking at it like a painful scab.

“I don’t know.” Hobbie said, surprised. He hadn’t thought about it before. He tried not to scowl at the thought of someone else flying - and destroying - the x-wing he’d flown only once but which he’d already been thinking of as his but it was easier to feel angry about the x-wing than think about someone else dying in his place. He felt another jolt of understanding of how Wes must be feeling. He shrugged, discomforted.

“Do you.... About your squadron... Do you feel...” Wes broke off, looking away.

“Guilty?” Hobbie asked. Wes nodded, not looking at him. “Yeah. A bit.” Wes’ expression clouded again and Hobbie sighed. “A lot.” He admitted. “I know I couldn’t have helped, I just feel like I should have been there. Like Biggs wouldn’t have died if I’d been there.”

“Does it get any better?” Wes sounded almost wistful and Hobbie almost laughed at the assumption that he was some kind of veteran with all the answers. He wished he had even one.

“I don’t know.” He said instead. “I’m kind of new to all this too. I hope so.” He paused then added slowly, “I guess you have to remember them, what they did, and just try to carry on without letting it eat you and do your best to do the same. To make a difference. I think that helps.”

Wes nodded, obviously thinking about it. “I didn’t even get to go to the memorial.” He said after a moment. “I didn’t know about it.”

“Actually, neither did I.” Hobbie said. “I didn’t have the heart but I wish I had now.”

“We should have our own.” Wes said. “Find some brandy or something and have our own memorial.”

Hobbie wondered if Wes was old enough to legally drink on half the worlds in the galaxy and then realised how ridiculously irrelevant that was and nodded. “I’d like that. You can tell me about your missions with Piggy.” He had a moment of inspiration. “You know, you should talk to Wedge too. He’s sort of the Red’s XO. Acting CO, now.” He corrected himself.

He’d seen Wedge’s odd mix of pride and sorrow in his new promotion when he’d visited Hobbie after the battle. Hobbie had also seen, though they hadn’t talked about it, the guilt and anger in Wedge’s face too. Guilt at surviving, anger at being called a coward because he had. It struck Hobbie, suddenly, that they were _all_ of them too young and broken for the things they had to do. No wonder the blunt-but-kind medic sounded so sad; to her they were all foolish doomed kids dying too young and surviving too old. “He said he was going to write to all the Reds’ families. You should tell him about Porkins too.”

To his surprise, Wes looked a little alarmed at the suggestion. “Antilles? Uh, I don’t think I made a good impression when I met him when we first got to Yavin, he might not want to talk to me.”

“Oh, Wedge isn’t as serious as he comes across, don’t worry. It just takes him a while to relax around new people. He’s a decent guy.”

“Yeah, well I threw up on his boots.” Wes said, glancing sideways at Hobbie as he spoke.

“Really?” The sheer unexpectedness of the comment in the middle of what had been such a serious conversation actually made Hobbie laugh as he tried to imagine the intense Corellian’s response.

“Yeah.” Wes said, in a voice that wobbled, but this time with suppressed laughter. “I don’t think we’re going to be friends, somehow.” Then he gave in and laughed too and before he knew it, Hobbie was laughing again. And then neither of them could stop and they were laughing partly in amusement and partly with the relief of finding they still could and that there was someone to laugh with.

They sat in companionable silence for a while after the laughter faded until Wes suddenly turned to him and asked, “You’re not going to tell anyone I cried, right?”

“Of course not.” Hobbie said, mildly insulted at the suggestion.

“’Cause if you do, I’ll hunt you down.” Wes added seriously.

Hobbie snorted. “You don’t scare me.” He said. “I could take you.”

“Oh yeah? Big talk from a guy missing a leg.”

“You think you’ve got a point, but you couldn’t even take on a durni kitten right now.”

Wes glared at him with what Hobbie recognised as mock fury rather than the real and intense anger he’d directed at himself earlier. Then he grinned. “Maybe not.” He allowed. “But neither could you.”

As he spoke, Hobbie saw a familiar figure enter the medical centre and started to struggle upright. Wes leapt to his feet - Hobbie tried not to care that it was so much easier for someone with two feet – to help.

“Hey Wedge, c’mere.” He called, waving to attract the other pilot's attention from across the room. Beside him, Wes jerked round to look and let out a choked noise of dismay. Hobbie ignored him. “You’ve met Wes Janson, right?”

As he looked between the reproachful expression on Wes’ face and the look of poorly disguised horror on Wedge’s, Hobbie felt his spirits lift. The pain and guilt were still there - and probably always would be, he acknowledged - but everything had changed and suddenly the galaxy wasn’t as empty as it had been a few hours ago. Maybe, he – they - would be ok.


End file.
